89th Hunger Games
by KashiBerries
Summary: Submit your own tribute story. FULL. The 89th Hunger Games.
1. Entry Form

Oh my God, ANOTHER one of these silly things!

Well, admit it, they ARE awesome, and I myself can never get in one of these things, so I figure it's like, awesomeness for some people.

So, I want tributes! Basically, as long as your character is awesome (I'm not hard to please), their bio somewhat (preferably VERY) detailed, and all that jazz, they will probably be picked.

I'll pick fourteen. (If your character is killed in the bloodbath, I'm aware you'll want to kill me, but eventually, they're bound to die.) I'm making some up for the bloodbath, (UNIMPORTANTNESS IS IMPORTANT), and I'll have one of my own. People killed will be, for the most part, completely random. Please don't take it personally! It would make me sad if people dislike me.

I'll probably have your character's prospective at LEAST two or three times, and maybe more, depending on how long they last. ONE OF YOUR CHARECTERS WILL WIN, (this will be the one I like the most, not random, so try and impress me!) not one of my own.

Anything else important- I'll be updating AT LEAST once a week, if it takes me longer then that, feel free to bug me about it. Questions? Trying to flatter me, so you'll character will win? THIS IS WHY FANFICTION HAS EMAIL. Chances are, I'll respond. If not, send me another one, because unless my computer was murdered or something, I WILL respond. And don't freak out, thinking I'll mess it up because it's my first fanfic, I deleted my other account and made this one, because my friends were reading all my stories, and I didn't approve.

Oh, and when I'm writing stories, I'm this random and such. I can be dramatic if I want to, and the story will be, but there will be snaps of humor, because humor makes me laugh, if you know what I mean.

Also, _if your character is from District 1 or 2, they must be careers (careers aren't always mean), because it's unrealistic that someone wouldn't volunteer. And I must be as close to the book as I can, because that's just how I roll. _But I will need mean characters, and careers are good for mean. But if you're in love with a District 1 or 2, it could be something like, their father was very proud, and NEEDED their daughter/son to be in the games.

_NO SPONSORING._

ANYTHING LEFT OUT OF THE FORM WILL BE MADE UP, SO DON'T GET MAD AT ME IF I DON'T SEE THE CHARACTER AS YOU DID. BE DISCRIPTIVE, PLEASE.

Yes, that's pretty much it. (After I wrote that, I've gone up at least three times to add more.) ENTRY FORM AWAY-

Full name:

Age:

Gender:

District (may be changed if it's already taken, but if it's important to the character, it won't be changed, or it will be changed to a district similar to that one.):

Opinion on the Capitol (Do they want to rebel? Or do they love every little bit about it? Or do they just not care?):

Family & friends (Did their friend come to the games with them, if so, are they in a alliance? Maybe it's a boyfriend/girlfriend, or just a friend? Write out another form under this one explaining the friend/lover, the basics of what happens between them, and such. Plus their bio. They may or may not get in there, but either way, they'll end up being at home.):

History (Even if there isn't anything to traumatic, give me the basics.):

Wealth, tesserae:

Personality (IN DEPTH! At some point they'll have a part in their POV.):

Appearance (Also, if not included in personality, what would they normally wear? _Rainbow socks are greatly approved of, by the way_):

Strengths (at least two, try and be creative with at least one):

Weaknesses (at least three, if they die, this will probably have something to do with it):

Weapon of choice (no guns, and unfortunately, no vampire bites or zombie germs):

Token:

Mentor (this one or the other one from the other district-persons form. Give me the basic personality and appearance):

Alliance (with the Careers, any random district member, person you like who wrote an entry before you, anything like that, or maybe they don't have one):

Anything important I missed:

Optional things (Otherwise I'll make it up)-

Reaping outfit:

Opening ceremonies outfit:

Interview outfit:

Interview angle:

That's it! May the odds _ever _be in your favor!


	2. First Results

**District 1 (luxury goods)**

F:

M: Kristofersen 'Kris' Red (Thanks for a dude. I kinda sorta needed one unless this was the male-takeover world and they made females battle to death. That wouldn't be a very fun Hunger Games.)

**District 2 (medicine)**

F:

M:

**District 3 (electronics)**

F:

M:

**District 4 (fishing)**

F: Elke Pelo (I just added "Elke" and "Polo" to my Microsoft Word dictionary. Feel important. Very important.)

M:

**District 5 (mathematics)**

F:

M:

**District 6 (science research)**

F:

M:

**District 7 (lumber)**

F: Yvonne White (I quote, 'Capitol is BADD!' I strongly agree.)

M:

**District 8 (weaving)**

F:

M:

**District 9 (hunting)**

F: Cordelia Grace Harlow (Ug, I know, the lack of epic zombie powers will most certainty decrease the awesomeness of the story… Oh well….)

M:

**District 10 (livestock)**

F: Violet Walters (I can see her, scrunched up in the corner of a elevator, nibbling on this raw steak, with other kids shooting her looks.)

M:

**District 11 (agriculture)**

F:

M:

**District 12 (Mining Coal)**

F:

M:

I don't have many! _**I NEED MORE TRIBUTES!**_

Now, imagine me screaming that into your face.

Would _you_ submit a tribute, or at least feel slightly threatened too?

Oh well, that will never happen, so I'll just have to ask you politely to submit a tribute while sitting on a unicorn behind a rainbow.

So, please, submit a tribute.


	3. Final Results

If anything says 'mine' next to it, it means it's a character I made up, probably for the bloodbath.

**District 1 (luxury goods)**

F: Cisqua Florette

M: Kristofersen 'Kris' Red

**District 2 (medicine)**

F: Sicily Roslyn Vega

M: Damon Knight

**District 3 (electronics)**

F: Lily Firestone

M: Nicholas Howland (mine)

**District 4 (fishing)**

F: Elke Pelo

M: Juda Vern

**District 5 (mathematics)**

F: Angel Ride

M: Zachary Perry (mine)

**District 6 (science research)**

F: Katy Lemilin (mine)

M: Lucas Smite (mine)

**District 7 (lumber)**

F: Yvonne White

M: Jackson Winkle

**District 8 (weaving)**

F: Heather Andrews (mine)

M: Stephen Haze (mine)

**District 9 (hunting)**

F: Cordelia Grace Harlow

M: Tyson Blane

**District 10 (livestock)**

F: Violet Walters

M: Xavier Stevens (mine)

**District 11 (agriculture)**

F: Aloe Firebush

M: Pax Lumi

**District 12 (Mining Coal)**

F: Sovay Pepper Wanderer

M: Eagle Rice

Those are all my tributes! I love them all! If one of yours didn't get chosen, his/her bio just seemed like a repeat. But I loved every character. Reveiw if you have questions/comments. Plus, I just like reviews.

Let the games begin, and may the odds _ever _be in your favor!


	4. Reaping: D1

District One tributes-

Cisqua Florette-

"Cisqua, oh, beauty, it's time to wake up."

I moan, pulling the satin sheets over my head. My mother puts her warm hand over my cold one.

"Today's a special day, Cisqua. You'll want to get up."

I turn around in the bed, facing her. "What kind of special day?"

"It's reaping day, honey! How could you not remember? Last night we went to the Justice Building and entered your name in the drawing a hundred times, so you'll have a better chance to win." She whispers, faint excitement in her quiet voice. She strokes my short blonde hair while she kneels next to the bed.

I heard in school that in some other districts, you added your name to the drawing and got a reward. Here, you had to pay to enter the drawing more then once, twenty dollars for one slip of paper with your name on it. Also, in the poorer districts, you could just walk up and volunteer, you didn't have to go through the entire process. My parents had spent 2,000 dollars on just a small chance of me winning. Sure, they were rich, but they _really _wanted me too win.

I slowly got out of bed, and with the satin sheets draped over my shoulders, I stood in front of her, my feet planted firmly into the soft blue carpet. My mom smiled, and pulled my into a great hug. I relaxed, my head on her shoulder, and sighed.

"I love you, Mom." I whispered.

"I love you too, baby." She said, and then pulled me away by my shoulders. "Now get ready, baby, and show those kids who the most beautiful tribute is."

"I'm not a tribute, yet." I say, confused.

"Not _yet._" She grinned, a big toothy smile, and I smiled back.

"Now go get dressed." She ordered politely, and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Standing in front of the huge wall mirror, I sucked my stomach in, turning my cheeks purple. The annoying pinch fat just kind of sat there, and I felt like growling at it. Sure, it wasn't that bad, and when I put a shirt on you couldn't even see it. But it gave of the impression that I was 'cute', not beautiful, or like I was a tiny innocent child. I was short, with big green eyes, blonde hair that fell no longer then my chin. It was like I was some kind of angel, cute little saint.

That's not how it is.

I'm strong, inside and out. Believe me, one insult about me or my family, and your good as gone. I get what I want, and nothing else. _That's _the way it works.

I try on a few different dresses, a light green dress that's far to childish, a blue ball gown that clashes with my eyes, and a light yellow skirt that doesn't fit quite right. Though, eventually, I dig out a beautiful violet dress. It has thin straps with a little silver beading, a very flattering middle with a gray sash, and the skirt with a couple layers of thin, silky fabric. The matching purple heels give me a couple inches up from normal, giving me near-average height. Every strand of my short blonde hair falls in the perfect place. I feel like a princess, and look like one too. Not one person will question my beauty, excellence, and superiority. I'm flawless.

And when they pick me for the games, everyone will know I'm the one that's going to win.

Kristofersen 'Kris' Red-

"Honey, honey, honey, baby, it's time to go, Kris, baby," Mom says, being more then her usual nervous self, but pretty neurotic. Thanks so the reaping, my mom was all the more over-protective.

She pats my back, leading me towards the door. I hold my large paperback book to my side, with my make-shirt bookmark of a shoelace that keeps falling out.

"Mom, _calm down, _I'm not going to be picked. And even if I was, I've been training from when I was five."

"Oh, oh well, okay." She says, taking a deep breath.

My shoelace falls out again, and I bend down to pick it up. And when I get back up, my fathers standing in front of me. I step back, alarmed.

He grabs the book out of my hands, ripping it in half. "You need to stop playing with this damned thing,"

He smiles at my look of horror, "I was reading that!"

"You where. And if I see you with another one of those things, you won't live to see the next day," He says, and simply leaves the house, slamming the door behind him.

I stuck in the same position looking down at the pages of my book, scattered around the floor.

I'm not shocked, or even scared. It's extremely common for him to do this. I'm a little pissed, sure, but I'm not going to go after him. You'd have to be an idiot to stand up to him, especially when his unspoken threat of assault lingers in the air around him.

"Oh, Kris, I'll get you a new book, I promise, that wasn't even very good, was it?" She says, wiping her sweaty palms oh her skirt.

"No, mom, it's fine. It's fine. I didn't really care for it, anyway." I lied. That was the book I read over and over again, my only escape from this twisted world.

The car ride to the reaping was silent, only the small sounds of the fancy car's leather seats squeaking under my weight.

Eventually, we arrived at the reaping. No signs of my father. I wasn't surprised, honestly.

My mom gave me a weak smile before letting me go to into the lines for reaping. I felt kind of out of place in the dress shirt and denim jeans, where as most boys had on things as fancy a tux.

I smoothed my sweaty hands on my pockets, and took a breath. _I wasn't going to get picked. Sure, dad stuck 40 extra slips in that damned reaping box, but that was 40 out of thousands and thousands. Maybe even a million. I was _not _going to be picked. _

Cisqua Florette-

A couple of giggling girls crowded me, one doing my make-up. That girl put mascara on my closed eyes, and suddenly spoke. She had been silent, other then when she asked me if she could put make-up on my _gorgeous _face.

"You think your going to get in?"

I pause, contemplating my options. "Hell, yeah," I say, and my hand flies over my mouth. I'd never said something so nasty in my life.

She laughs. "It's okay, I've said worse when my tongue slips."

"Yeah, that helps," I say sharply. I really didn't care how foul her words were. "Why, you think you get a better chance then me?" I snap.

"No. I only got one slip in there. But good luck to you."

I roll my eyes when she pulls her mascara brush away from it. "I don't need luck. I'm going to win no matter what, it's fate."

"Huh. Fate. Oh, well, you or me, sister."

She walks of, leaving me almost confused.

I jump up and down, holding hands with the girl I barely know, jumping up and down, laughing. From the loud speakers, we hear, _"The girl tribute is…"_

"Me, me, me! Cisqua Florette! Me!" I scream, but I can barely hear my own voice over the crowd.

_"Oh, this is a good one! Are you ready to hear it!"_

"Yes! I am! Now say it!" The girl next too and me scream in chorus, and then we giggle, and drop hands and stop jumping.

_"Okay, if you're sure. Come up here… Cisqua Florette!"_

I scream. That girl next to me screams something at me that I can't hear. I run up to stage, laughing hysterically.

I'm thrown high fives and some girls throw their make-up containers at my face. But nothing can destroy my perfect mood.

_I was chosen!_

Kristofersen 'Kris' Red-

The girl up on stage looks like some sort of over-confident God. She's pretty, sure, but looks like a snob.

Oh, well, it's not like I'm going to the Games with her.

_"And out male tribute is…"_

I make a face at the wild screaming, and a couple guys push me out of their way, anticipating for their own name to be called.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, knowing it's not me.

_"Kristofersen Red!"_

I open my eyes and take a breath, it's all over. I can relax.

"Dude, get up there! That's you!" Someone yells, and pushes me.

"Ow! What are you talking about?" I ask, rubbing my neck.

"Your Kris, right?" He emphasizes 'right' like I don't get it.

"Uh, yeah."

"So, you were just called,"

"No, that was Christopher Reed." I say, correcting him.

_"Kristofersen Red?" _

I swear, right then I almost fainted.

_I was chosen._

_

* * *

_

District One! Yay!

Review, please. District Two should be up in 1-2 days.

You can kinda tell by the end I sorta gave up, but I was tired and wated to get this done.

BTW: If I compleatly screwed up your charecter, let me now, I can fix it.


	5. Reaping: D2

District Two tributes-

Damon Knight-

"God Dammit, Damon, get of bed!" I'm shoved in my rib, and my eyes snap open with shock. My breath is completely knocked out of my lungs, and it takes me a minute to register my thoughts, and gain more then semi-consciousness.

I push myself up, and before I can think quite right, I yell at my father, "It's freaking six am!"

"Hell yeah it is! It's also reaping day!" He yells, and before I can react, ice cold water is poured all over my head.

I shoot up, gasping at the needles of ice pricking me on my bare chest. I shout, nothing more then a simple, "Grahhh!" erupting from the back of my throat. But it doesn't even matter, because by the time that happens, my father has already escorted himself out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I stand up, and pull the ridiculously fluffy blankets of my bed, and drape them around my shoulders, shuddering from the cold.

After a quick, steaming hot shower, I change into a black hoodie and dark jeans. I know my dad will seriously flip when he sees I'm not wearing a tie for this 'special occasion,' but in no shape or form of anyway do I believe that it is necessary for me to dress up.

I stand in front of the foggy bathroom mirror, combing my strait black hair that tends to fall in front of my dark blue eyes. And, oh, the girls just _love_ it, but more or less, I just find it annoying.

I trace the long red line that outlines my jaw. From a feminine view, it makes me look 'hot' or 'sexy.' In my opinion, it's terrible. It reminds me constantly of all those memories, that ones that don't deserve to be remembered.

I was seven. I was walking with the street with my mother, and we innocently talked back and forth about my school. Suddenly, a man dressed in a all-white jumpsuit with gun in hand, walked in front of us, and my mother, not paying much attention, bumped into him. The man was already clearly in a mood. Peacekeepers will do anything for any reason, as long as it means causing pain to someone.

My mom repeated, "Sorry," at least a million times, holding her hands in front her face, while the man, enraged, kicked her in her thigh, causing her to fall onto the ground. Defenseless, my mom was slowly beaten to death, involving many brutal kicks and whacks from the tip of the Peacekeeper's long gun. I stood, watching in horror, along with a few passerbys. After the man left, leaving my mom bloody and dead on the ground, I sat by her body all night, sobbing.

Finally, my father found me and my mother. He was horrified, along with me. He took the piece of jewelry hanging on her neck- a chain with a large black metal rose hanging on the end of it, hung it around his own neck, and continued to wear it until the funeral two months later.

About a year after that, with not a shred of physical memory of my mom left, I snuck into my father's room in the middle of the night. I took the necklace hanging over his dresser.

The next night, he found out I had it. I had barely tried to hide the fact, too, for I sat in the living with it clenched in my fist, staring at the wall. He grabbed it from my hand, screaming curses I wouldn't even repeat. I jumped up, and managed to pull the chain right out of his grasp. His already-short temper exceeds it's limit, and shouting, he throws me right into the lit fireplace, headfirst.

My head bangs against cement. My jaw, were the scar came from, makes a loud pop, and can feel the pain of it dislocate. The entire surrounding skin has been shredded off from the stony walls. My baggy flannel sweatpants catch fire, and my thighs still have purple burn marks. For some reason, maybe just some kind of common sense far inside my father, he snaps into reality of what he just did- most likely kill his own son.

He pulled me out of the fire, and at this point I had been knocked unconscious. I'm not quite sure what happens, but I woke up the next morning with scars and burns, lying in a hospital bed, the necklace wrapped tightly in my fist.

Ever sense, he's abused me, yelled at me, never treated me fairly, but when he's not doing that, he's avoiding me. Which I'm okay with, really.

Memories race in my mind, sad ones. But suddenly, I have empathy for my father.

Today is the day that, years and years ago, he was chosen for the games. He must have terrible memories swirling through his mind, too.

Sicily Roslyn Vega-

I sit on the edge of the bed, my unoccupied hands sweating, placed awkwardly in between my knees. I'm stressed and nervous, and all of those other wicked feelings.

_This is my last chance, my last chance at my own _life, _I need to reach some kind of... of... state of importance. I can't grow up to marry some jerk, have a thousand kids, all of which will probably rebel against me at some point. I can't be like my mom, who has no importance to her at all, other then her many children who don't really give a damn about what she does for them. I can't just live for the sake of living, that makes no sense, I'll probably kill myself before that happens, because that life is a joke._

I'm going to let that happen, because my name is going to be called for the reaping. I'm going to get to the Games, and I'm going to win those Games, and after that, everyone will love me, I'll mentor every year, I'll be famous for the reaping to the time of the next Games, maybe even far after that if I'm amazing, which I probably will be.

_But what if my name _isn't _picked? _

It's killing me, inside and out, the waiting, because if I don't get my named called.

_My life is no longer worth living._

I guess I'll have to let fate decide, but fate better have some emphathy for me, because if it's not my fate to win these Games, well, I think I've established what would happen then.

I force myself up off the bed, wanting so badly just to scream, because stress is eating me up.

The strapless dress I'm wearing keeps falling down, and I keep pulling it up. It's an endless war. The top is silvery and sparkling, and after about mid-waist_,_ it starts flowing out with purple satin fabric until right above my knees. I wear thick chain necklaces and gray heels that threaten to snap. To complete the look_,_ I have heavy bags under my eyes from stress and my dark brown hair won't stay in the right place_. _I don't really mind the fact that I'm just simply not the prettiest girl on the block, it's just kind of annoying how I can never look the way I want.

Slowly, I walk down the fancy spiral stairs, expensive like every other thing in this house. I end up in the dining room with everyone else, my entry completely ignored.

My mother is at the head of the table, trying to put a bottle into Marche's mouth, who refuses, screaming and pulling on my mother's hair. He's extremely cute, actually, when he's not on a rampage.

Alessandria and Genova are sitting across from Milana at the table, and they're usually the five-year-old triplets are prim and proper, but on this day, Milana gets away with her knees on the chair, and her entire waist leaning on the table top, just so she can hear the other two better.

Catania and Syracuse sit next to each other, the nine-year-old fraternal twins, and they speak jibberish, but it seems to be a made up language. The both of then are very, very close.

Lucca is sitting on the table top, talking about how he's going to win to my father. He uses hand motions and yells a lot to express it. My father sits at the table next to him, nodding his head, smiling. He won't talk to any other one of us, even my mom. Just Lucca.

Verona, Venezia, and Siena sit next to each other, probably talking about worthless things like they always do. They giggle far to much, and I can only imagine the teenagers are thinking about boys.

I have an older brother, Padua, who doesn't live with us. He married a beautiful girl a while ago, one who was far lower in 'class,' but she was very nice, and they loved each other. He hates my parents because they disapprove of the marriage, and I'm pretty sure my parents hate him back.

Alas, my family is huge, and being the odd one out, I don't get a shred of attention.

I'm completely ignored, no support on the Games, so I just walk out the door and walk to town square, alone.

I stand in the reaping line, crowded by giddy girls and the Careers then can shoot you looks that make you want to kill yourself. I'm one of those Careers, but I like to see myself as not so harsh.

Every single second, it seems to be years. I just need to hear my name called, and then everything will be okay, because even if I don't win, I'll die proud.

Someone's up on stage, saying things I'm not paying attention too, I just need to hear those _two familiar words_.

"Ladies first, right? Okay, and the girl tribute is..." I perk up a little bit, _those two words..._

"Sicily Vega!"

The entire crowd starts cheering, and I stand there, awestruck. To be hounest, I didn't think my wish was going to come true.

Someone pushes me, and I find myself walking up to the stage.

Halfway there, I start smiling. I'm elated. _I was chosen._

Damon Knight-

It's only a simple fact- I have one slip in that box, one against thousands of others. I won't be chosen. I don't want to be chosen- my dad is up screaming every night, I can only imagine the horrors that come with winning those Games.

And I don't want to die- I have friends, family, maybe even the girl of my dreams in my reach. But hey, that's a different story.

The girl tribute, Sicily Vega, seems to be the normal Career, not so vicious, maybe, but she seems overjoyed she was picked. _I can see her being slaughtered to pieces right now._

God, I hate the Hunger Games.

"And the male tribute is..."

I'll admit, there is a little but of tiny nervousness somewhere deep inside me.

"Damon Knight!"

_What!_

It was rigged, it was rigged, I know it, those lousy damn Gamemakers rigged the box so I'd win because I'm a winner's son!

_I will kill anyone of them right now, right now I'll kill those Gamemakers. _

I walk up to the stage, completely subconsciously.

Hell, I'd never kill anybody. I just can't. Even if they are pure evil.

_

* * *

_

Woop! District 2! District 3 today or tomorrow. _  
_

While writing this, it dawned on me that 'pure evil' is a oxymoron. For some reason, this made me extremely happy.


End file.
